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Goro wasn’t supposed to be doing this.
He wasn’t supposed to be holding the gun. It was supposed to be Akira.
Akira’s leather-clad fingers holding the metal of the handle, squeezing gently on the trigger, pressing the barrel against the centre of Shido’s forehead.
Goro’s fingers are cold and shaking.
The rest of his body isn’t faring any better.
But there’s Akira’s voice hot against his ear, breath fighting against the cool night air from the windows, “He can’t hurt you anymore, Goro. All you need to do is fire.”
Shido’s stare is as immovable as ever. Even with a gag in his mouth, bruises scattered along his jaw and his eye socket and his neck, with a fucking gun pressed to his head; he stares at Goro like he knows something that Goro doesn’t. Like there’s one more thing he has up his sleeve.
It makes Goro’s finger itch.
“Are you fucking insane?” but he can’t quite find the power his voice needs to make his words stick. Akira’s laugh makes a shiver run down his spine.
“This is my gift to you, baby.”
“I can’t kill him.”
“Why not? You think he’d show you the same mercy if the positions were reversed?”
“That doesn’t matter,” Goro can’t stop looking Shido in the eyes. He’s certain that he would be sneering if not for the gag.
“Then, you think he showed mercy, or even cared, about anyone that ever died under his rule? About your mother?”
That feels a bit like a gut punch. Goro makes a little whining sound and tries to bury his face in the crook of Akira’s neck, but Akira doesn’t let him.
Even Shido tries to kick up a fuss about it, words coming out all muffled, but the feeling behind them coming across loud and clear. Akira plants a foot on his chest and kicks him over, pressing hard on his ribs, “You shut the fuck up. He’s mine now. I took your disgusting influence out of his head.”
Goro’s eyes don’t seem to quite know who to focus on. Shido is still staring at him, barely wincing even while Akira spits on him, kicks him hard in the side, steps on his fingers until they crack. But he’s never seen Akira like this before.
He can’t even drop the gun, completely frozen as Akira climbs over his father’s body and wraps his hands around his throat. “You piece of shit! You’ll never touch him again,” all Goro can hear is Shido gasping for air, “he’s mine !”
“‘Kira,” he whimpers, hands shaking so badly now that he can’t keep his grip steady on the gun. It falls to the floor with a harsh clack.
“Goro?” Akira looks over his shoulder, all the rage in his expression back under lock and key as he immediately gets up to give him comfort. “It’s okay, I’m sorry, I won’t do that again.”
Akira’s fingers feel so good brushing through his hair. His tight grip feels like the only thing keeping on solid ground. He barely even notices Akira pressing the gun back into his hand delicately. “Shh, baby, shh,” he whispers, using his own body weight to readjust Goro’s position, “this will all be over soon, I promise.”
“But I can’t do it,” he can feel Shido’s eyes burning holes into his head even as he looks at Akira.
“Mmm,” Akira hums, “sure you can, Goro. I know you can.”
Shido’s face is shiny where Akira spat on him, highlighting his black eye under the moonlight. Goro hates him, and he seethes with it, is disgusted by how he still manages to seem like the biggest man in the room. It’s like Goro can hear his voice in his head, still degrading him for being a coward, why couldn’t he be a real man like his father? Why couldn’t he just do as he was fucking told?
Shido’s looking at him like he’s still a winner.
“Goro, honey,” Akira’s lips press to his ear like a gentle kiss, “do it for us. You can be mine forever.”
His arms seem to move of his own accord, finding the perfect angle and correct aim, with the bridge of Shido’s nose between the sights. Distantly, he can feel Akira’s hands on his elbows, manhandling him to just how he wants, but it doesn’t seem real. Goro feels like he’s moving on his own.
Like this is the first action he’s ever taken willingly.
Goro feels free.
He pulls the trigger.
The shot is allowed to ring in his ears for three seconds, before the sound of his own rushing blood floods it out. Akira moans directly into his ear, but Goro can barely hear it. “Good boy, such a good boy. My good boy.”
Goro turns his head to speak, but Akira is ready and waiting to pull him quick into a kiss, immediately shoving his tongue into his mouth and moving their bodies backwards. “Nn, ‘Kira,” Goro hums against his lips, feebly trying to push back.
It’s not worth it. He can’t get his mind right. He doesn’t want to fight.
Blood’s still rushing through his ears as Akira gives him one hard shove, momentary relief from the endless roar coming as his back hits the sheets.
“Do you want your reward now, baby?”
He wants to want it.
His first act as a free man. To want.
Akira doesn’t even wait for his answer, “I wanna give it to you now. Right now.”
“‘Kira,” is all he feels capable of saying anymore. All he can do is stare at the ceiling and take. Akira’s knees are at either side of him as his hands rip Goro’s shirt open, tearing all the delicately sewn buttons and destroying the frills.
The hands feel wet against his chest, and Goro’s brain stutters at the feeling. It’s blood, he knows it is, it’s too slick to be anything else, but it won’t fully register until he looks down and sees red.
Akira’s hands are dripping with it.
Goro swallows down bile as those hands make their way down his sides, mouth nipping marks into flesh, to his hip bones. Akira lets his fingernails dig in, making Goro attempt to squirm away. All he achieves is causing the scratches to grow longer, adding blood to blood. “Ow, that hurts.”
The breath of Akira’s laugh is even colder against his blood-wet skin.
Akira slides to his knees, taking Goro’s trousers with him as he goes and kissing wet stains into his thighs. “Sorry, baby. Can’t help myself.”
Goro used to believe him when he said those things.
“You’re too much. So good,” and Goro’s cock visibly jumps through his underwear at the words, but all that registers in his mind is the smirk it brings to Akira’s face. He brings his hand to rub at Goro over the fabric, “You like that? You want more?”
“‘Kira,” he gasps, threading fingers through Akira’s curls.
“You make that sound so pretty,” the smirk’s still plastered on his lips as he snakes a hand up the leg of the pants. All he can think about is the blood. His cock twitches again.
What have you done to me?
It hurts, he’s so fucking hard already. He reaches down to wrap a hand around himself, under the waistband, but Akira is quick to stand back over him. “You know you’re not allowed to do that,” he snarls.
Breath shuddering as Akira blows flame against his cheek, he squeaks out, “Sorry, I’m sorry, sorry.”
“You wouldn’t want me to have to tie you down to your father’s bed, would you?”
“No, no, no,” he frets, “I’ll be good, Akira, please.”
Akira slaps him on the other cheek, hard enough to leave a reddening imprint of his hand, “That’s better.”
As Akira returns back to his knees, this time taking Goro’s underwear with him, Goro is distantly aware of tears dribbling down his cheeks. He doesn’t remember the tears building, or seeing through blurry eyes, but still they fall. Goro doesn’t dare make a move to wipe them away; pathetically lets them drench the sheets beneath him.
“This is supposed to be your prize, don’t ruin this,” Akira hums, prodding his blood-wet fingers around Goro’s rim.
“‘Kira, I want- on my cock.”
“Shh, shh, shh,” Akira soothes, pressing a rough finger into Goro’s hole while the other hand rubs delicate circles against his thigh, “you’ll take what I give you.”
“Ow-,”
“Hush,” he mumbles, “it’ll feel good in a minute. You know it will.”
All at once, another finger pushes past his rim, the pain intense and immediate. Goro’s instincts find him squirming away up the bed, but Akira’s hand moves to grip him hard on the hips, fingertips digging into his scratches. “Let me take care of you,” he says, only sternness in his tone, “I know what you need.”
This doesn’t feel like care. Goro feels like an object.
The blood is not slick enough to be used like this. Goro can feel it awkwardly drying inside him and down his legs. Akira continues on anyway, shoving in a third finger into the too-tight hole. All Goro can do is take it as Akira holds him down and fingerfucks him.
More tears spill out of his eyes as Akira finds his prostate. Goro wails, pushing his head back into the mattress, spine bending painfully, “‘Kira!”
“That’s it,” and Akira fists fingers around his cock tight, “stay still.”
“Mm!” Goro writhes, pain melding with pleasure in a potent cocktail of tension, trying desperately to buck into Akira’s hand.
“I’ve got you.”
But the blood rushing through his ears screams with pleasure, drowning him out. Goro just feels trapped, held down like a prisoner.
But he likes it.
Oh, fuck, he likes all of this. “More,” he cries, “please, ‘Kira, more.”
“There’s my good boy. You’re doing so well,” Akira adds another finger inside Goro. It’s not necessary, they both know that, but Goro thrashes so nicely as it burns him alive. It’s all encompassing, the immense heat spreading up into his gut and down past his thighs, paired like a fine wine to the coiling spring in his balls, the firm grip on his reddening cock.
“Please,” Goro begs, “want- to cum.”
Akira cooes condescendingly, “Not yet.”
“ Please. ”
The fist around his cock tightens. “No. You can cum on my cock.”
“Then I want your cock, please.”
“Hm, maybe if you beg nicely,” Akira smirks, beginning a slow pace to jerk Goro’s dick.
Moaning, Goro snaps his hips forward, trying to fuck into the tight circle of Akira’s fingers. Akira just squeezes, hard enough to hurt, and lets go. He pulls away entirely, in fact, the wet squelch of his bloody hole hitting his ears before the feeling even registers.
Akira bends over to push down his own pants, hands coming back impossibly bloodier as he strokes his own cock, already at full hardness. “You want this?”
Goro just nods wordlessly.
“Yeah?” Akira mocks, nodding right back at him. He comes in close once more, barely teasing the head against his hole, “Then beg me.”
There’s hands on his hips, holding him steady as his body instinctively tries to sink down onto Akira. Akira smirks as he whines pathetically, grinding his cock between Goro’s ass cheeks.
“Please,” Goro whispers like a prayer. “Akira, I need you.”
Akira leans forward, brushing two bloody fingers across Goro’s cheek, “Say it again.”
“I need you.”
“How much?”
“So much- please. Need you inside. I want to be yours.”
“All mine. Say it.”
“I’m all yours. Yours, ‘Kira.”
“Good,” Akira smiles, and for once it feels warm. It’s inevitable, Goro can’t help it, how he smiles right back up at him. “Good boy.”
This is the closest Goro will ever get to love.
He’s at peace with that.
Akira pulls his thighs back to rest on the edge of the bed, he grabs his cock, angling it just right and pushing the head in. The feeling is so much more than just the fingers; intense like he’s being split apart at his very core.
It hurts, it hurts, it hurts- and then Akira wraps tender fingers around his own hardness, and Goro is once again caught in the blissful space between the worlds of pleasure and pain. “ Oh, ” he groans, reaching helplessly for Akira for something to ground him.
Humming, Akira indulges him, letting Goro grasp by his shoulders, forming a vice grip around his neck and pulling him close. Akira sinks inside slowly, dictating the pace with his strength no matter how hard Goro closes his legs around his waist.
Or how much he begs.
“ Please, please, please, oh fuck, ‘Kira, please, ” he cries while Akira barely grazes his prostate. It’s not enough.
All Akira does is give him a look of pure paradise as he bottoms out.
Goro feels like a mirror.
Akira comes in close to whisper, “How do you want it?”
Soft. Loving. Gentle. But he knows what Akira wants to hear, “Hard.”
Kisses spread themselves across his cheeks, light tongue lapping away blood, “That’s my sweet boy. Wants to get fucked hard like the whore he is.”
Teeth sink into the junction where the neck meets the shoulder, cock slides out and rams back in, hard and rough and violent enough to make Goro cry out. Hard enough that Goro knows he’s going to have bruises in the shape of Akira’s hips tomorrow.
The pace Akira sets is relentless, hammering again and again and again into Goro’s ass. The tears quickly come back as Goro finds all his senses overwhelmed by pleasure and pain, the endless fucking spilling them down his cheeks like rivers. Akira drinks them down like a starving man.
“So fucking tight, Goro,” Akira moans directly into his ear, readjusting to get a better grip on Goro’s cock. He times the strokes perfectly with the rhythm of his thrusts, yet softer, none of the tight fist he’d used before; now his touch is all rubbing fingers and twisted wrist.
Somewhere in amongst the brutal pace with the delicate touch, Goro learns how to just lie back and take. He loses all track of real time, finding himself in a floaty sort-of headspace that only heightens his pleasure and numbs the pain. “‘Kira,” he groans, using whatever strength he has left to weakly thrust back against Akira’s cock.
Distantly, he hears Akira paying him praises that make his cock twitch, the grunted chuckle that follows making Goro vaguely aware that Akira knows what he’s doing to him; he can feel it. The humiliation of it only serves to make his balls feel tight.
“Akira, I-,”
“Say it,” he commands.
Goro moans, arching his spine, muscles tight like stone, “‘Na cum.”
“I can’t hear you, fuck, speak up.”
“Please let me cum.”
The broken laugh that follows is so cruel, and for a moment Goro remembers, but then quickly Akira’s cock slams back inside to make him forget. “Already?”
Goro doesn’t remember how long it’s been. Months or years or seconds.
“Cum then,” he speeds up the pace of his blood-slick hand.
It’s all he needs to snap the beautiful architecture of his spine and spill white to repaint the red. A cleansing, maybe. All Goro sees is more mess to clean.
The high of the orgasm lingers in his system; his body offering only guilty shakes and heavy breath. Akira doesn’t stop fucking him. He’s too sensitive to think.
So he doesn’t think. He lies there and he takes what Akira gives him until he feels the pace stutter and stall and his own walls are flooded with white.
More mess.
When he’s done, Akira collapses on top of Goro’s still-heaving lungs. There’s a hand in his hair, streaking it with blood and cum and love.
“I love you, Goro.”
“I love you, Akira.”
Goro pretends he doesn’t feel the corpse’s eyes watching him from across the room.